Family
by Moiranne Rose
Summary: Birth, Marriage, Death. Turks and AVALANCHE. Three events, two groups and one common understanding. Winner of the Genesis Awards June Fanfiction Challenge.


**A/N: After a slight hiatus and a really rough June, I managed to scrape this together for the June Fanfiction Contest over at the Genesis Awards. The challenge was to write a oneshot on how the Turks and AVALANCHE became friends/on speaking terms with each other. This is rated T for language (read: F-bomb), so if you can't tolerate such, please hit the back button immediately.  
**

**With that, enjoy.**

* * *

**Title: Family**

**By: Moiranne Rose**

**Summary: Birth, Marriage, Death. Turks and AVALANCHE. Three events, two groups and one common understanding.**

**Thankfully Beta-ed by: GoldenShinyWireofHope and  
**

**

* * *

**They say the happiest, the saddest and the strangest things bring people together, and I have to say that's right on my account. The biggest things in life move the most stubborn of people.

Whew. That philosophical crap is hard to process.

It must have started June, six years ago. "It" being having our number of speed dials going from one to eight, going to the bar not just for drinks, lagging behind so Marlene can close up and walk home with us to protect her. She is well-trained by Tifa, being all long legs and badass kicks and spins, but we are constantly worried of what wrath her foster mother will bring upon us if she is hurt in a town where she has three highly capable friends who live not three blocks away from her. And she is like the kid sister Rude lost, 'Laney and I never had and none of us deserved.

It's funny, but then again, lots of things are. Like the fact that I am now thirty-two and a Yuffie-proclaimed "old fart" (which isn't to say _she_ isn't getting on either), or that the ninja princess is a soon-to-be mother of two, or that six years ago, to this day, Rude broke his sunglasses and never replaced them. It is funny that two groups of individuals that were previously bent on the destruction of the other can kiss, make up and live happily ever after, spread over five countries and in constant PHS contact.

Rude says my years are getting to my head and making me more contemplative, more Tseng-like.

I ask when he found his voice box again, inwardly still wondering how he can say that name without choking up.

* * *

The happiest would have to have been when Cid and Shera had their first kid. That was a _big_ thing for the old man and his wife.

That noisy little bugger.

It was 3 AM in Rocket Town, where the _ex_-Turks had stopped over after completing a job for the WRO. That man never knew what was coming for him until he was face down on the pavement with blood pouring from a scorched wound in his head. It was nice to know that I hadn't lost my moves along with my suit, reputation and right to a snappy name for a title. Law Enforcer and Special Operations Executive was quite a mouthful (and absolutely boring) if I do say so myself.

The hotel we'd bunked in was run-down, just like the rest of the town, drooping on its concrete haunches and lying half-flat on the mess of dirt and sparse greenery. Rocket Town was one of the last to rebuild, after all. We paid a goodly sum and the lady at the counter had been dropping off, so we managed to squeeze into two rooms, establish some boundaries (like where she slept, he slept and whether 'Ladies First' applied to the toilet) and sprawl onto the faded sheets to sleep till morning.

Damn, I can still hear Tseng's voice that night; "I'll call you in the morning; we don't want to be late. Be up to pick up."

I didn't even have the energy to grunt, "We don't know if the phones work." We trailed our quarry for the whole day around the whole town before disposing of him in the alley a block away from the recently refurbished cinema. Behind every killing we do, there's a day's worth of searching for the guy first. How can you kill him, without knowing where he is?

My eyes went slit-like and I reached the dreamy state of half-sleep, tugging the blankets and uncovering Rude's toes when --

"WAHH WAHHH WAHHHHHHHHH!"

So much for town planning. Who ever thought to put the goddamn _County Hospital_ next to the budget inn?

The tissue-thin blanket was on the floor in an instant, and my head was out of the window, in the cold air screaming expletives out of the window. Right _opposite_ us! Those idiots were delivering a baby at the most _unholy_ hour of the morning, the little brat wailing and bawling like a damn banshee and depriving people of precious sleep. When you're a Turk -- fine, _ex_-Turk – you need your sleep. You have no idea how bad Laney's morning temper is like when she doesn't get at least five hours.

Right, so just when I drew in a breath of morning breeze, searching my mind for more multi-lingual vulgarities, guess who opens the window and _screams right back at me_?

Cid _freakin'_ Highwind.

That's right, that old codger with the oversized ships and undersized shirts and that way with words that's almost as commendable as it is undesirable. That's the man you want on your side. But not literally, you'd get a face-full of smoke, because that man puffs like a damn _chimney_. That was the man who held his newborn in one hand and the window open with the other and stuck that blond head out and countered my swearing with some of his finest.

He rattled off a few choice phrases from his veritable dictionary of them before he actually realised who he was glaring at across an empty street, who the half-dressed man at the window of the Country Inn's third floor room three-oh-two really was. In fact, it took me about that long to realise as well. And, let me tell you, meeting your enemy face-to-_freakin'_-face in nothing but your boxers and the wind that just won't let up is a pretty daunting experience, if I do say so myself.

Then I heard another voice, female this time, rising above the wailer and the recently silenced swearer. This one beat them all flat and knocked them out in one fell swoop. The voice of one Mrs Shera Highwind, the only known tamer of the notorious Cid Highwind. At least, he had the decency to look ashamed. I didn't.

"Cid Highwind, you get in right this instant! I'm the mother of your newborn, I just woke up from five hours of sedation because you can't control your big mouth for _one minute_ without needing to let fly at the next thing that peeps at you. You --" then there was silence as the Lady Highwind caught her breath. After all, she'd just delivered an abnormally loud baby.

"Mrs Highwind?"

Now it was my turn to jump. Rude had woken up fully as well, hastily pulled-on shirt buttoned wrong for once. I think if I hadn't been worrying about freezing my chest off, I might have witnessed the most irate-and-confused triad of a family in Rocket Town being completely confounded by a half-dressed male in motel slippers. But of course, I'm a selfish bastard and all.

"Mrs Highwind," he addressed her again in that voice that he only uses with Tseng, as if he wasn't a total wreck just shaken awake by his reckless partner and his equally reckless half-enemy. As they say, takes two hands to clap, yo.

"I apologize for my partner's disturbance," Disturbance? _Distubance_? "I'll make sure he doesn't disrupt your happy moment any longer," It was amazing how his voice could seem so quiet and yet could travel across the four metres of air between us with no sweat. But that wasn't all; he got me with the last statement.

"Congratulations, ma'am, sir. Good morning."

I was floored.

With that, my holier-than-thou, Reno-you're-gonna-get-it-from-me partner closed the window with a snap and got back into bed, slippers kicked off and shirt thrown aside. After a few moments of fish-like gaping at the sheepishly-closing window opposite, I crawled back in as well.

When I woke up the next morning, I was late, Tseng was furious and my feet were cold and stiff. Rude had stolen my share of the sheets and, when questioned, only stared at me innocently through his goddamn shades.

So much for being partners, yo.

* * *

AVALANCHE were like mushrooms those few years between Geostigma and Deepground. They popped up everywhere. Sure, we worked for the same company, but we hadn't expected that they'd always be picking out vegetables when we swung by to get oranges for 'Laney (another of those cravings of hers), or fixing that damn bike at the same time when I _accidentally_ crashed Rude's car into a lamp post and got towed in.

Fieldwork was more common than assassinations ever since we started in the WRO. We were often sent to various parts of the Planet to scout for threats to the company, just like the ShinRa days. But we don't say that name anymore. It's become almost a swear word. Little kiddos used to run around in the Shadows (the reincarnation of the Slums) under the looming grey buildings of Edge yelling that name at each other and getting subsequently spanked by angry parents. No one had forgiven ShinRa, so, likewise, no one had forgotten it either.

Rude and Laney were off duty that day, having come down with a bout of flu that had been passing around the office. They always did spend too much time in the common areas and the coffee room chatting with others (well, Rude listened more often) and exchanging bacteria and viruses. So it was just me and Tseng-boss-man prowling the streets of Edge and sending underaged Yuffie-wannabes and small-scale gangs home.

The Shadows was a lousy place to grow up, because, just like the Slums had produced fuck-ups like me, the place screwed with the kids too much. It was dark, just like the Slums had been, but, thankfully, at least they had fresh air to breathe instead of the compacted atmosphere under the Plate.

The Plate. That blasted word. That Denzel kid still won't let me forget the Plate fall, but he's come to terms with it, somewhat. He knows I torture myself enough about it as it is.

Except, of course, I don't.

I didn't say no to the mission orders, because that's not how it worked in ShinRa. No one said no to orders, especially direct orders from the President and his board of fat Execs. And it was my job, as evil and horrible as it sounded. It was my job and I was proud of it.

See? I _told_ you I was fucked-up.

Anyway, we were striking poses, flashing badges and basically, intimidating people into staring at us in muted fear. Then I saw it.

The Slum church's ruins.

It was the same church that we'd gone to when I was still had my goggles and my cocky attitude. I'd like to think I've toned down; that's what gets the ladies now after all. The church of that Ancient chick who had ended up impaled with a six-foot sword and saving the world in her wispy dead way. But it wasn't just the church that made me spare it a second glance. It was the _white_.

When we saw it the first time, it was already decrepit and falling apart, grey paint flaking off and stone steps chipped and worn. To see it reflecting what little light there was _straight into our eyes_, not to mention having fresh white roses strewn everywhere about it like a damn halo or something, that was one _hell_ of a shocker. Ding-ding! My brain realised something really special was happening. Leading thinker of the time, I was.

The bells were chiming, no wait. The _bell_ was chiming because whoever built the church was short on cash and could only get one bell. But that didn't matter. The damn thing was ringing so loud that it managed to turn heads in the business district of Edge. There were people trickling in from everywhere, dressed in pink, yellow and white, sporting more roses in their pockets and hands. Each of them had one of those smiles that was stretched so wide over their faces that it looked fake. But then again, I've always been cynical.

Tseng gave me a look when I started towards the church, intent on finding out what was causing all this merriment. I ignored him.

It seemed like a free seating arrangement, without ushers except for a tiny brunette girl that looked half-familiar. All the men were in pressed tuxedoes and all the ladies in conservative dresses: the stuffy, no-fun crowd. There nay have been some familiar faces, but I glazed over them. I slinked in in my messy garb and sat myself inconspicuously next to the last pillar, musing about whether anyone could hide a gun or three in a jacket. Probably, I thought. These people were probably having a secret meeting as members of the Stuffy Cult or something.

Being a Law Enforcer made you see things that you wouldn't normally in a crowd of people. Everyone has something to hide; that's my rule.

The bell gasped out a final note and stopped, before a small organ stashed in a corner began to sing out a traditional hymn. I frowned and refused to get up from my seat, even though the rest stood stiffly and began to applaud. A stereotypical dark-haired bride dressed in a white dress floated down the aisle towards a stereotypical about-to-wet-his-pants groom. Except, somewhere along the line, the chick wobbled on her heels and needed her tiny little flowergirl (who was also the usher from before) to steady her.

"Be careful, Tifa!"

Amidst the loud boisterous laughter that followed, I realised I was stuck in the wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time situation. And it was a happy occasion. With AVALANCHE. Immediately, I began to see people I'd hoped never to see again. After the baby incident, I wasn't too fine with being in the same room with these people.

The groom had a head full of blond porcupines and couldn't stop trying to smooth them with his fidgety hands. His ring-bearer fumbled with the rings for a moment, causing one Cloud Strife, for once in his life scared witless to flick his head about so fast that he knocked over a flower arrangement behind him. The rings 'ping'ed against the floor as they fell and rolled away. Barret Wallace stood at the front, hulking next to spear-wielding Cid Highwind, Shera Highwind and baby Highwind. I still hadn't forgiven that little whelp for waking me up. Vincent Valentine was leaning on the pillar and passing tissues to the irritating ninja Yuffie who was unashamedly weeping loudly in the front pew.

AVALANCHE at its finest.

I was out of there in the time it took for Tifa Lockheart to stumble her way to the front, forgoing her heels at the third pew. I don't think my heart ever beat as fast as it did in that wedding. Tseng was beside me once I managed to compose myself, with that bloody I-told-you-so smirk plastered on his face.

Later on I bought him a coffee so he wouldn't rat me out to the others. It was a good thing I knew his favourite flavour. Vanilla, his only vice; I knew he couldn't resist.

Three days later, I got a note from Tifa Lock – I'm sorry, Tifa Strife – saying thank you for the bouquet of roses. Attached was a receipt for fifty gil and a Tseng-scribbled "It was only polite." on the back. Damn that man.

That night, for the first time, I was let into Seventh Heaven without having Tifa glare at me constantly until I pushed off at three or four, all jelly-like and drunk. I passed it off as wedding-night exuberance, but after a week's worth of her perfunctory good service, I knew something was wrong. Something was wrong with the whole bunch of them being so welcoming and everything. It was illogical to welcome your enemy into your bar, let alone sit down and talk with his inebriated self after hours.

I kinda liked it, but then again, they were enemies and what I was doing was fraternizing with them. I resolved to try and stay away from there as far as possible.

* * *

But at the end, it was this that really brought us together.

Two days before our annual _ex_-Turk anniversary dinner celebrating two years of freedom from ShinRa, Tseng got himself killed in the crossfire between a gang and his Law Enforcement unit. Shot messily through the stomach and it was "too dangerous to retrieve him", they said. He'd died on the job, but that was a small mercy. It was the first time we'd ever lost someone so close to us and we took it really bad.

That day, Rude, Laney and I skived off work after we heard what had happened and drank ourselves silly at Seventh Heaven, Tifa wordlessly passing us drink after drink until we passed out, wasted and miserable, on her precious polished bar top. The next day, we punished every single one of the people in his unit who had survived.

We spent the anniversary burying him on a hilltop because 'Laney said that he would have liked it there. So that's where we buried him, on our own, without anyone else prying. Sure, we were all hung over from excessive alcohol binging and exceptionally tired after two sleepless nights, but we dug and dug until the sun went down and the moon came up and we put his body in there, sat down and stared at it for a long time.

And then we shoveled all the soil on top of him and left for Seventh Heaven again. But not before Rude threw his shades down and ground them into the dirt, letting the pieces of black-tinted glass be the last farewell any of us would give to our leader.

We came back the following day to see more people there than we'd ever expected. Five people leaning, sitting, kneeling about that humble spot and looking as horribly depressed as we felt. It didn't take long to realise who they were.

"I missed you at work," Reeve said, as if that was reason enough to be barging in.

Laney managed to wet her dry throat first and squeeze out some words.

"Why are you here?"

Tifa looked over and pressed her lips together.

"We didn't see him with you yesterday when you came to Seventh Heaven and --"

"We thought it was strange," the ninja sitting cross-legged on the grass said.

"So," Tifa glared at Yuffie for a moment. "We asked Reeve and --"

"I told them," Reeve finished, stroking that goddamn goatee and looking pensive.

I think I got mad because I didn't know how else to react.

"But then why do you lot care so fuckin' much? He was your enemy, he was the person that took your precious Aeris away and the guy who chased you all over the Planet because he was on orders to do so. You all should be off partying or something, not here looking all weepy and sad and fake, because you don't have a _clue_ what we feel about this and you're just acting and _pitying_ him and Tseng – Tseng doesn't --"

That's when my voice failed me and my resolve shattered pathetically. Rude's hand on my shoulder was the only thing that kept me standing. I mashed the base of my palm into my eyes and rubbed feebly, but nothing seemed to stop those blasted tears from leaking out.

Cloud, from his stance looking out over the hill, turned around.

"I don't know either. But sometimes --"

(what was with these people and their continuing each other's sentences?)

"Your enemies are the people you know --" Yuffie mumbled to the air.

"Just as well as your family," Vincent Valentine's hair whipped about him in a stupid, sissy way. But then again, a grown man with a penchant for killing people crying was just as stupid and sissy.

"Tseng was a great man," 'Laney said shakily, trying to wrack her confused brain for some other word that would show them that no, they did _not_ know him well enough to be sad for his death.

"He held the people back while you reloaded, distracted everyone so you could Cure yourself and extended your paperwork deadlines by pleading with your boss," Cid Highwind drawled through his cigarette that twitched up and down when he spoke.

"How did you know?" Rude's voice was uncharacteristically uncertain.

"Well," the great pilot mumbled. "The first two I inferred after seeing you guys in action. I figured he'd do the same."

"But the paperwork?" I inquired, voice all snappy and small and unreasonably angry because I was currently beating myself up for fucking _crying_ in front of my enemies. 'Laney's hand fell on my other shoulder and stilled it before it started to shake with those hated sobs again.

"Lucky guess, then."

We all fell silent as we regarded the unmarked gravestone that stood against the blustery wind. It occurred to me that Tseng might not have been his name at all, that we may not have known him as well as we thought we did either. The three remaining Turks, standing in a pathetic triangle and mourning the death of a man they only half-knew. Classic.

"Why do you care?" 'Laney muttered, more to the wind than to anyone else.

Tifa and Yuffie stood, Cid pulled himself away from the gnarled tree and Vincent and Cloud turned around, all of them moving to stand in a line facing us. It was almost like the old days, like when we used to hate each other and things were simpler because hate is simpler than familial feelings any day.

It was Tifa that managed to answer it, leveling our tired, wary glares with one of her own.

"Because we know how it feels to lose someone and," she smiled wryly. "We're trying to help you guys."

"Help us? Even though I --" Now I was _really_ confused. Didn't they care that we were cold-blooded killers, _responsible_ for the deaths of their comrades? Didn't they care that I dropped that Plate and killed their friends underneath it? Looking back to that time when the order first came, how _powerful_ I felt when I pressed the button, how I ignored all the screaming, I would have been disgusted at myself (had I not been...myself, of course). Tifa's smile only widened.

"Even though you've made mistakes in your past --"

"We have too," Vincent intoned. Yeah, sure you have, Valentine.

"And," Cid stopped for effect and a drag of his cigarette. "We forgave you long ago."

* * *

So that's the story really, that's why I ended up here, sitting in this hospital room with a mismatched gang of ten others, having a little kid on my lap finding my hair very interesting to tug. Stop it, you little bugger. I _still_ haven't forgotten the time you woke me up at three.

In a few minutes, Yuffie's going to have a new kid, with that Vincent Tall-Dark-and-Emo Valentine, which I'm praying (even though I'm hardly religious) is just as weird and irritating as she is. That way she'll get a taste of her own medicine, see what it's like for the rest of us having to deal with someone as frustrating as she is.

Cid is outside having a puff to calm himself and Shera's yelling at him through the window about polluting the air.

Marlene sits opposite me and keeps looking at the clock. She's a compulsive perfectionist, probably worrying that someone's not doing their job properly at the bar while she's not there. One day, I might have the resolve to tell her of another person like that.

Tifa and Cloud have lapsed into their first decade of marriage and their own litter of kids are making a ruckus at home. 'Laney just called to say that one of them broke a vase.

Barret is conspicuously absent, but there have been problems at Corel and Denzel followed him back to "deal with it". I think that boy has learned a lot training under Rude and yours truly. We're kinda like friends now, ever since I managed to sneak him his first beer at nineteen. Tifa was all prim and righteously angry at me for a week.

This bunch is weird and their hierarchy is something I'll never hope to understand, but I like these people and they like me, so it's cool. Some people call it friendship, some an alliance, heck, some may even say _family_. All I know is that it started with three huge bangs, three big hits above the stomach, somewhere to the left. And it ended us up here, waiting for the next addition to our odd group.

Even though they might have vested interests or some shit like that under their eccentric surfaces, they are just like the _ex_-Turks in most ways. They grow on you. Like Marlene knows how to mix whisky and soda in _just that way_, and Rude, 'Laney and I meet Cloud and Reeve every Thursday over coffee to "catch up". We were enemies once, we were killers once, but now we're something of a family and know each others' PHS numbers by heart.

So, this is one of those times where I just say "Fuck it" because there are understandings and resolutions that can never be explained in words.

(Yeah yeah, Tifa. Not in front of the kids. What's your problem, woman?)

* * *

**A/N: Longest oneshot _ever_ written (for the moment). Was that a hint at more Reno-POV oneshots? Why yes, yes it was. **

**Love and Cookies,**

**MR  
**


End file.
